The possibility that my day would live up to those expectations was shot by 7:37am. At least I got to sleep in a bit and wake up to happy Cal at my bedside asking me to help him get his button-down shirt on while the pleasant sounds of Ella reading in her bed danced from her room to mine.
My morning went south the moment I got out of bed.
Cal couldn't find a pair of pants to wear with his button-down shirt and tie and wanted my help. As if I could help him. We've been down this road many times before only to find that no pants fit him with his strict requirements of what "fit" means. They're either too long, too short, too puffy, have pockets or some yet-to-be-classified flaw. I don't know why he keeps asking me for help, and I don't know why I get suckered in to helping him knowing full well I just can't. It ends up eating away at my supply of patience and he ends up getting an earful from me about some "someday" not being able to wear sweatpants and a t-shirt.
While I was in there frustrated with my inability to help him with his pants and his inability to lighten up, I noticed a broken hanger lying on the floor in his closet and instinctively laid into him about pulling hangers off of the rod and breaking them. "Lift them off," I told him. "Or ask Mommy and Daddy for help."
It may have been this that triggered his saying he didn't like me and that he wanted Daddy. "That's nice, Cal. Happy birthday to me," I told him.
I had been up only five minutes and I was already in a place I didn't want to be, a place I regularly tell myself not to go. I wish I could just deflect these insignificant challenges. I can't help my kid find a pair of pants he's willing to wear from a respectably large supply? There's nothing I can do about it. He has a super sensitivity to things he wears, and there's only so much I can do to work with that. Pocketless, stringless sweatpants and t-shirts -- that's how we get through the days. I can't let myself get frustrated and lose patience with his sensitivities because it's who he is. While I was visibly and audibly frustrated with Cal, inside, I was just disappointed in myself for being so.
It didn't end there. I hadn't yet delivered his reward for staying in bed all night and not sucking his thumb -- a nutrition bar. We started this awhile ago, and I think we should end it. It's lost its effectiveness -- Cal stays in bed and has stopped sucking his thumb even if animal crackers or water are waiting for him in the morning; Ella doesn't care and thinks she's entitled to a bar regardless of her behavior the night before.
I thought I handled the bar situation much better than the pants. He wanted a "white bar" (a yogurt honey peanut Balance Bar), and I told him we didn't have one, that he could have a granola-protein bar or a red, green or blue Nutri-Grain bar... ooh, or a Nourish bar (yeah, right). "You always eat all of the white bars," he told me snottily, to which I responded that I don't, that I actually save them for him, as if I even needed to explain that to him. "Your choice, Cal," I told him, and even threw in animal crackers, not that I had to. He chose the blue Nutri-Grain bar and actually ate it.
It didn't end there, either. We hadn't gotten his shoes on yet. His tie shoes. We only have them because they just don't make non-tie shoes for feet as big as his, or at least, ones that he thinks fit him. I insisted he not wear his boots that he had worn all winter today, that he start transitioning to his running shoes... OR CROCS. I always throw the Crocs in, the easy-slip-on Crocs in as an option, and he just never bites.
So Ella pretty much shadowed my every move throughout the morning and actually cooperated. I think the kids instinctively know that they need to find balance in their behavior -- when Cal is a beast, Ella's an angel; when Ella's a beast, Cal's an angel. When I asked the kids to "please get their shoes," Ella immediately got hers. Cal was distracted by a book and required a reminder... or two... or three...
And then I blamed him for our being late and that he was going to have to eat breakfast at school by himself (I learned he doesn't like this) and it was all his fault. How old am I? I was not proud of this but couldn't help myself. It was true, but I should have kept it to myself (or at least not have been so high-and-mighty about it).
He did grab his shoes but needed help getting them on. Just like the pants, he has pretty strict requirements around his shoes, requirements I haven't completely figured out yet. The gist is this: his tied shoelaces also need to be tucked under the taut part of the laces... just right. This didn't go well this morning. Not well at all. Cal couldn't get his laces tucked... just right, and neither could I. He yelled and cried, I yelled... and yelled some more. I know I swore, and I know I used the word "freak," indirectly, if that makes me sound less monster-like.
Cal eventually insisted "I want Daddy," and I dialed Dan's number for him. I then turned my attention to Ella who wouldn't wear her fleece jacket because it was "too big." Rather than admit she was right, I told the poor victim of my frustration, "fine, you won't be able to go outside at school, then," and took my toys and walked away.
I sit here now in the early evening hours of my birthday with Ella sitting next to me "reading" a Dr. Seuss book out loud and Cal sitting across from me drawing a dinosaur picture. It's really nice. I ended up having a really nice day despite its start -- went for a run in the sunny outside, had lunch and saw a movie with my mom and was on the receiving end of a hand-made card from Cal. Happy birthday to me, indeed.
As is usually the case, Cal seems to have forgotten the happenings of the morning, and I'm still disappointed in myself for not keeping my composure. I don't know which is right, either -- let myself off the hook or learn to keep my composure? Maybe both? Maybe now that I'm a year older, I'll figure that out.
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